Upon further review, basically, staring more and more at Tamara Ecclestone’s inflated tubes, I’ve come to the conclusion that I’d still let her be my super rich bitchy wife. Why not? If you’re going to choose to spend the rest of your life with just one woman, might as well have her screaming at you about stupid shit while you’re on the deck of your yacht, or behind the wheel of your Lamborghini. Because trust me when I say that hearing the shrill voice of the sour side of a relationship while you’re behind the wheel of a ’98 Forester can truly suck.